


i'm out on the edge

by WinchesterBurger



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Caring, Elijah is traumatized, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, I Blame Tumblr, Language of Flowers, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sad, Tumblr Prompt, connor's a sweetheart, he's a good boy here, nines-centric, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterBurger/pseuds/WinchesterBurger
Summary: It is, indeed, a tragedy.(It is also an irony how the flowers can mirror his feelings perfectly. Malva is tender and beautiful, and in some way hideous. His love is the same – it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt, but it’s consuming him and he knows it will only stop when it reaches its goal, and he knows he will take that goal to the grave with him.)





	i'm out on the edge

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous on tumblr asked: "Can you write a fic about Reed900 plus Hanahaki disease? I've been reading some of the Hanahaki disease tagged fics and i loved the angsty idea! Angst and almost character death/ major character death but not for long with a happy ending please?"
> 
> I hope I delivered! It's an old prompt and I'm sorry I haven't filled it earlier, but at least I did (I'm shitty with schedules). I looked up most of the meanings that appear in the story, some of them are a little bit changed to suit my ideas, but overally I think they're quite clear. ALSO, it's rather really heavy angst, so be cautious if you're really sensitive.
> 
> title from '"echo" by jason walker

 

At first, they’re daisies. Small and fragile, almost painless pinches of petals which turn into a brook every time Gavin smiles at him, showing the dimples in his cheeks and squinting slightly his eyes. Nines sometimes gets so lost in the sight his system overheats from the excess of flowers he doesn’t cough out, a dozen of _software instability_ notifications popping up in his view, his coding stumbling through the simplest actions. There is no pain – only confusion.  
  
(Nines knows they mean a light affection, fondness that doesn’t really need to grow into anything more. It feels more like a crush with all his awkwardness and sudden shyness, and he hopes it will stay that way. And maybe, if he’s lucky enough, maybe it will even vanish.)

 

  
  
His hopes are high, but one day they crash down in his tears and drown when the daisies disappear, replaced by bigger yellow petals that can only belong to dahlias. They come out wet with sticky liquid and it takes Nines less than a second to analyse them and come to a hair-raising conclusion – the liquid is thirium. A quick self-test that follows reveals the flowers’ roots are anchored in most of his internal organs, but fortunately his thirium pump is left untouched. He has no idea what he’d do if it wasn’t.  
  
With dahlias arrives pain, and with pain arrive tears. Earlier Nines wasn’t sure if he was able to cry – of course, there are little plastic pockets with a tear-like fluid located beneath the skin under his eyes and a bigger container in his stomach, all of them connected to each other, but he couldn’t trigger the action by himself and also didn’t know _what_ actually could. And now here he is, with a fully wet face, fists clenched in a weak attempt to stop the painful whimpers leaving his mouth. Pain was a mystery before as well, although with deviancy came suffering. If only there was a way to stop it, like humans did it with morphine, however androids aren’t blessed enough to have this possibility.  
  
Previously, Nines never liked to think his feelings over – they just were and he was fine with it until he wasn’t. Since the day the dahlias have appearred his mind is almost constantly busy reflecting on small-scale details, trifles that can possibly affect the way he feels. Unconscious smiles whenever Gavin asks about his well-being, lonely spots of heat inside of him, with unknown sources, when his partner lies a hand on him or presses his knee against Nines’ under the table. They all make the flowers bigger, worse, more beautiful. Their roots begin to ache even when he doesn’t move, and so he gets stuck in a never-ending circle of agony, tears and sorrow.  
  
(Dahlias, dahlias are dangerous. They imply he doesn’t know how he feels, and he really doesn’t. Some people say they are a bad omen, a sign that things will turn worse if one doesn’t react, and Nines surely does not. )  
  
  
  
He isn’t afraid ‘till the moment the dahlias die and a new kind takes their place. Purple hyacinths are beauteous, a handful of wonder he can’t take his eyes off and when they leave his mouth he feels paralyzed with pain. Their roots wrap around his pump, slowing his system, fuddling his coding to a degree where the _software instability_ are nothing more than just a gentle hum in the back of his head that makes his vision blurry on edges. He’s terrified for the first time in his short artificial life, so terrified that raw panic starts to climb his software, adding some redness to his view and taking his non-existent breath away. He knows it will made Gavin worry, so he hides the best he can, and runs and runs and runs, forced to do this each time the man gets too close to him, again.  
  
Kamski seems to be his chance, the first and only he will ever get, and he has to try. The former CEO of CyberLife isn’t as reachable as Nines initially thought, but Connor and Chloe help him – without requests to know his reasons, what he is really grateful for and doesn’t know why he deserves.    
  
“There is one thing I can do,” is Kamski’s calm reply when he finishes a bizarre examination on RK900 and sits upright on his swivel chair after minutes of slouching. Nines’ gaze follows his left hand to the computer and watches his fingers dance swiftly on the keyboard.  
  
“I can get rid of them. It’s a simple process,” the man continues, still not making any eye contact with the android. “Surgeries of this kind are often performed on human patients at different ages, with different types of flowers and various chronic diseases. It’s not uncommon to get through such an operation, I assure you. Most people have had at least one during their life. Given you’re an android, it would be even safer and easier to do.”  
  
There is silent for a moment or so, seconds full of hope and need, and anxiety at the same time, then Kamski shifts in his chair and turns around, facing Nines. He rubs a hand over his face, tiredness hiding behind his thick yet stylish glasses; he looks older than he is, RK900 takes notice. Burdens of all kinds sat on his shoulders, visible, heavy, wearisome. The troubled wrinkles on his creator’s face aren’t marks a thirty-seven-year-old man should have.  
  
“However there’s something you need to know before you decide.” Kamski sighs and leans forward, elbows on knees. “The surgery will not only take away the roots, but also their cause. It means that if I get rid of the flowers – hyacinths in this case – I will also get rid of your feelings. Love, admiration, affection, friendship too, if you aren’t lucky enough. It may even get you back to the default – indifference,” after that, he stops and waits for Nines’ response. When it doesn’t come, Kamski bites his lower lip. “I can’t neglect your decision and I will not try to manipulate you, but… If I were you, I wouldn’t do it. It’s a one-way ticket.”  
  
“Have you done it yourself, sir?” The man winces at the title, but says nothing as Nines sits up without breaking eye contact. Kamski looks a little uncomfortable after hearing the question. “I understand that it might be too intimate and violate your privacy, forgive me for–”  
  
“I have. More than once. I wish I haven’t done any of them.” Elijah cuts him off, all at once looking sad and longing, and _regretful_ .  
  
Nines eventually doesn’t get the surgery. He leaves with Kamski’s blank face and empty gaze in his mind, trying his best to stop the tears that gather behind his eyes and ignoring the agonizing pain in his insides, the one that tells him he doesn’t have much time left.  
  
(After all, hyacinths are the symbol of regret. Kamski’s grief is enough to make him think and he comes with a hopeless conclusion. He will rather have his last weeks filled with helplessness, but also love, than live for decades knowing what he’d lost, alone with regret as his only friend.)  
  
  
  
When the hyacinths wither, it’s almost like seasons changing. It’s peaceful and quiet, his inner calmness soothing the growing pain when purple shifts into pink as the first whole, undamaged flower – malva – falls from his mouth. It’s damp from thirium, but still pretty, still delicate. He takes it between his fingers and strokes lightly, afraid of damaging its petals. Sometimes he wonders if all this is just a joke that the ugliest pain comes with the finest work the Earth can grow.  
  
After that, it’s never good anymore. His coding seems off all the time now, his moves are slower and mind doesn’t always catch up with his partner’s. It's weird, not being able to function the way he was programmed to, being so sluggish and regardless. He thinks Gavin notices – like Connor, Lieutenant Anderson and Officer Chen notice. Maybe Captain Fowler does, too, but he says nothing, lets him continue his work instead, as long as no one is making complaints.  
  
It’s somewhere between his eleventh and twelfth week (his inner clock fails more and more often, and he doesn’t really care) when he sees the first intimate exchange between his predecessor and his partner. Their shift ended over twenty minutes ago, but they all have in habit staying a little longer in the precinct, shifting through the papers and cleaning their desks, preparing for the next day. Gavin’s gone in the kitchen, busy with washing his and Lieutenant Anderson’s mugs, and Nines is sorting a large pile of files on his own desk when his eyes catch something in their peripheral vision, his LED circling yellow. He looks up just in time to see Connor in Lieutenant’s personal space, his arms around the older man’s shoulders, their faces close. He might be a second too late to actually see the kiss, but his coding isn’t that displaced yet; he doesn’t need to see to know what happened.  
  
Nines plans on staying in the precinct alone – his nights are now filled mostly with vomiting flowers anyway. Gavin doesn’t object, and this is one of many things Nines likes about him. The man just throws him a puzzled look and a grimace too sad to actually _be_ a smile, yet he hugs him before he leaves. It’s painful to stop the malvas from spilling, however the android manages, somehow. He still has to wait before he’s completely alone.  
  
Lieutenant Anderson mutters a “night” and ruffles his hair as he passes by. Nines smiles through the pain, through the agony tearing him apart piece by piece with every second, and patiently waits for Connor to say goodbye, but RK800 doesn’t. He sits on Nines’ desk instead, his attentive, too attentive gaze focused on Nines. The younger one bats him a weak smile.  
  
“Is something the matter? Do you need my assistance?”  
  
A beat or two of silence before Connor answers, and even then it’s not a real answer.  
  
“Something is wrong, but I can’t tell what. I don’t _know_ . And I want to know, Nines. I want to help you,” a deep sigh leaves his mouth and RK900 uses the moment of his distraction to swallow an exceptionally big crown of flowers stuck in his throat. “If there’s something bothering you, tell me. First, the changes in your program, then meeting with our creator. I don’t know what to think about this. I’m worried.”  
  
His words cut deep, leaving Nines breathless. He feels tears pricking behind his eyes and he does his best to stop them, but he can’t focus on two such absorbing actions, not with his deficient coding, not anymore. There’s a second of _shit I failed_ before he coughs like his life depends on it (and hell if it doesn’t, ironically), bending over and screaming, crying and trying not to break over the fact that apparently he’s not only hurting himself, but also his own brother. He’s grateful the office is empty and they’re completely alone like two lost souls in a haunted house when a creased malva lands on the floor between them.  
  
Three or four beats of silence, a thick moment of shock and disbelief and–  
  
“Oh, Nines.”  
  
There are arms around him, picking him up and setting him against the desk. A hand on his shoulder when he coughs another whole flower and a handful of petals for good measure, a tissue cleaning the smudges of thirium off his face. He feels so ashamed, so wrong, wrong, wrong as he cries his eyes out like a newborn baby. He must look miserably, but again, he doesn’t care.  
  
“You should’ve told me earlier. I would’ve helped you.”  
  
_You can’t and we both know it_ , Nines says through the wireless connection. Connor seems frozen excluding his thumb which is making circles on Nines’ shoulder and the movement helps the other android keep his attention off the pain that spreads through his chest.  
  
“It’s Gavin, isn’t it?”  
  
He feels no need to reply as the answer is obvious. He’s sure that Connor has already noticed his gazes and his longing and the throbbing feeling of raw _love_ everytime they interface. It seems like a tragedy – he’s an android and it should make him nearly immortal, but in the same time being an android makes his life a curse, a barrier that keeps him from deserving a human’s love.  
  
“You should tell him. He’s worried, too: he doesn’t want you hurt, you know.”  
  
It is, indeed, a tragedy.  
  
(It is also an irony how the flowers can mirror his feelings perfectly. Malva is tender and beautiful, and in some way hideous. His love is the same – it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt, but it’s consuming him and he knows it will only stop when it reaches its goal, and he knows he will take that goal to the grave with him.)  
  
  
  
The last stage comes with magical blue zebra primroses, not bigger than a hand, with a splotch of yellow in the center. Nines expected something aggressive, dark, something telling him straight on that he’s dying, but the petals that spill from his mouth are gentle and calm. He doesn’t register any change in the level of pain and it’s soothing – he’s already been in agony.  
  
What _is_ in fact disquieting is that when the malvas’ roots fall off, the new ones, the ones that hold primroses, pierce deeper than them and lock themselves permanently. When they still a sudden realization finally hits him.  
  
He’s going to die. He’s been awake for less than a year and he’s already going to die. This is it.  
  
Two days after the primroses’ awakening, two days full of Connor’s mournful stares and buckets of petals, full of alternating errors in his coding and moments of static flooding his vision, Nines decides that it’s not fair. If he’s going to die, he can at least fight a little, even if it does nothing. The voice in the back of his head tells him that he doesn’t deserve what he asks for, but the android only curls into a ball of anger and decides that he will not ask for anything. He wants to spend his last days with Gavin, listening to him talk and laugh, watching him. Maybe he will manage a proper goodbye, if there’s still enough courage left in him.  
  
It’s nice at first. Nines starts conversations whenever they’re alone or just temporarily free and Gavin seems wary, but soon he gets used to it. It doesn’t take much to make him talk, mainly about their current case or his cats, and it’s usually so absorbing that he doesn’t notice the android’s intense stare. And so Nines seizes an opportunity, gazing at Gavin’s face, at his lightened green eyes and wry smile, at the dimples that show up on his freckled cheeks and at the lazy curls, bouncing over his forehead whenever the man nods enthusiastically. It’s captivating, sometimes so engaging that Nines forgets about the flowers in his lungs and pump and often almost falls down at the sudden pain that shakes his body. It’s hard to hide, yet he’s become good at it – so good that at times he feels as if he can fool himself.  
  
Until one day when they’re driving from a scene of homicide back to the station. It’s an eighth or ninth day of primroses and he should be dead soon, the symptoms are clear, but he’s also stubborn and insists on continuing his work. There’s dark outside, chilly and rainy, and they’re halfway to the precinct when one of the worst spasms he’s had attacks. He leans forward, clutching at his throat in panic, because _no, no, not now, rA9, at any time but not now_ , however it does nothing. The flowers are flooding his esophagus and mouth and though he clenches his teeth with all the force he has, they’re stronger and fight their way out.  
  
He feels an urge to scream and destroy and cry as a handful of damp petals settles on his knees, some of them dropping to the car floor. There’s thirium again, a lot of it this time, and tearing in his pump. Tears appear shortly after, a pitiful addition to the ugly sight he already makes.  
  
The car stops in an instant.  
  
“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he whispers with difficulty, throat scratching. A hand lands on his neck and the warmth that radiates from it makes everything a little easier.  
  
“Who is it?” A quiet shaky breath later a question arrives. It cuts his heart in parts, causing another wave of beautiful, beautiful primroses to spill out.  
  
“I’m really, really sorry, Gavin.”  
  
There’s nothing more he can say. He regrets that Gavin has to see him like this, but the damage is already one, there’s no way back.  
  
The hand on his neck tugs him closer, another one appears on his chin and lifts it up. His half-closed eyes lock with Gavin’s. They’re shining in an odd way and it takes Nines a moment to acknowledge that Reed’s crying. He’s crying because of the android. rA9, he’s never felt such hatred towards anyone as he feels for himself right now.  
  
“I asked you a question, Nines. Answer me.” And when he doesn’t, Gavin whispers, voice small and somewhat hopeful, “Is it me?”  
  
The world spins around Nines for a moment while the roots tug at his pump. There’s humming in the back of his head again, static jumping before his eyes, and he no longer has strength to hold on onto his pathetic life. A sob followed by a soft hiccup escapes his mouth. He guesses Gavin doesn’t need any other answer anyway.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me, tin can?”  
  
Nines more hears than feels himself whimper at the broken tone of his partner’s gentle voice.  
  
(Primroses, oh. They’re so sad to look at because of their meaning. Eternal love, they seem to murmur, you’ll love him long after you’re dead. You’ll never stop, you know? It will haunt you in the timeless void that is going to be your home, forever. The echo of his voice the only thing you’ll have after him, the only thing to remind you that it wasn’t just a dream.)  
  
  
  
A touch of chapped lips on his own brings him his first clear breath in months. He shudders when a barely audible _I love you_ rings in the air around them, and the first root falls out. Another _I love you_ and the second falls, and another, and another. Gavin doesn’t stop mumbling between their chaste kisses until he makes sure there’s no plant inside of Nines anymore, and despite this he mumbles for a minute or so after that.  
  
The primroses under his feet start to wither with the second he returns the confession.

**Author's Note:**

> come shout at me on tumblr [@someonefromthere](https://someonefromthere.tumblr.com/)


End file.
